Silversong (The Fable Series, Book 3)

Chapter 4

On the trip home, my mom sets to work prying open my shell.

Staring out the car window at the passing scenery, I'm only half-listening to her as she says things like "it's not good to hold it all inside", and "it's important to talk about your feelings," all the while watching me nervously out of the corner of her eye as she drives.

As we pass the Ninth Order of Angels Catholic Church, she asks me if I want to visit Mia's grave, or maybe even the memorial statue for the bus crash victims at Southwood Lakes High, my old school from before the accident. There'll be a candlelight vigil there tonight, just like last year and the year before that, and we could swing by the florist to pick up a wreath of calla lilies, Mia's favourite.

But I shake my head, saying that I'm tired and all I want to do is go home and sleep.

Sleep, wonderful sleep.

I wish I could just curl up in bed and sleep forever.

Like Evan. Like Mia.

*****

Mom ends up dropping me off at home, so she can rush over to the restaurant and help with the dinner service prep. Dad phoned her in a panic saying that the "mushroom guy" was super late on his weekly delivery of porcini and golden chanterelle mushrooms - the key ingredients on the Portland Wild Mushroom mac n' cheese, Biblio's signature dish - and, to make matters even worse, the new sous chef called in sick. Friday's their biggest night, and they're already fully booked, so this is like a small disaster.

Even though this means I have the whole house to myself, it doesn't change my plans.

Sleep. All I want to do is sleep.

I head upstairs, longing for the gloomy sanctuary of my bedroom. Mom is always complaining recently about how I never clean my room or open up my curtains anymore to let the sunlight in, but what's the point? Just like getting dressed every day, or going to school, or completing the hours of never-ending homework assigned to me now that I'm a Junior. All these pointless repetitive tasks that I barely have the energy to even care about, let alone even bother to complete.

What's the point of any of it? Work, worry, sleep, repeat.

I feel all the time like I'm falling, sinking, too slow for anyone else to see maybe - but sinking bit by bit, deeper down under the waves.

When was the last time I actually felt like I stood on solid ground? Not since the bus.

My summer with the Fable boys was a wild rollercoaster ride of thrilling highs and terrifying lows, a whirlwind of changes, both good and bad. Since they left, I feel like I'm stuck on a different fairground ride. One of those slow, boring, relentlessly spinning ones, the nauseating monotonous merry-go-round of sleep, school, homework, sleep, school, homework, sleep, school, homework.

I want to get off this ride.

Kicking off my shoes and dropping my school bag next to the bed, I slip out of my clothes like a snake shedding its skin, leaving them discarded in a careless pile on the floor. I sink into the cool embrace of the bed, wishing it would just swallow me whole.

Lying on my back in the shadows, I look up at the empty space on my ceiling. The poster of the Fable boys that I used to fall asleep staring up at is now banished to a dark corner of my wardrobe. I can still see the faint sticky marks left by the scotch tape I used to stick it up all those years ago, a fading map of childish fantasies cast aside, now gathering dust.

Even with the poster gone, I can still feel their eyes staring down at me, the warmth of their smiles, watching from afar.

So I turn onto my side and pull the covers over my head, and slip into troubled late afternoon fever dreams.